


Just Shut Up and Cuddle

by AnotherWorld3111



Category: Supernatural
Genre: (he won't let cas heal him), AKA, Caring Castiel (Supernatural), Castiel Gets What Castiel Wants (Supernatural), Castiel just wants to heal Dean, Dean Winchester Being Dean Winchester, Fluff, M/M, Sam Winchester is So Done, Self-Sacrificing Dean Winchester, Sick Dean Winchester, Uncooperative Dean Winchester, but yeah basically, cuz hes a, omg that's a tag i love it, self-sacrificing idiot, that is also a tag, these are amazing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-13
Updated: 2020-03-13
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23127619
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnotherWorld3111/pseuds/AnotherWorld3111
Summary: Dean gets sick after a hunt, and retreating to the bunker, all he wants is to be left alone and be a miserable grump. Sam, long since used to his brother's antics, is just amused, but Castiel is desperate to heal his friend. Too bad Dean is making it so difficult for him, but Castiel can be just as stubborn too when he wants to.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 8
Kudos: 166





	Just Shut Up and Cuddle

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [this](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/566836) by Lizleeships. 



> based on lizleeships art post series on instagram! I have no fucking idea how to add a link to text, so I'm just gonna provide y'all with the link to the original master piece this pic is based on, so y'all need to go check it out and give her lots of love for her beautiful work!!!
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B5reIHGHIcN/?igshid=1clzhgb8jxq

“I’m sorry, did you say _I_ could drive?” Sam stared bewilderedly from the keys in his palm to his brother. 

Dean, who had a shovel still over his shoulder, other hand on the Impala trunk, tiredly pausing and replying without even looking at Sam. “Keep your panties on, Samantha.” He sighed, shoulders slumping further. “Tough hunt, is all.” Tossing the shovel into the trunk, he slammed it close, wearily making his way to Baby’s backseat. Sam tossed a worried look at Castiel, who only mirrored it before getting in with Dean.

Staring back at the keys in his hand, he looked through the back window, Cas’s rigid form a visible contrast from his brother slouching in the seat, listing to the side. His eyebrows furrowing, Sam nonetheless made his way to the driver seat. Getting in, he cast a look at his brother through the rearview mirror, before starting up the car. Things were silent in the backseat until they reached the freeway, Sam unable to help casting intermittent glances at his brother. At one point, Cas shrugged off his trenchcoat and draped it over Dean. Apart from his eyebrows climbing to his hairline, Sam kept his mouth shut. Probably a good thing he was too worried about his brother to try riling Dean up, because when Cas spoke up, his low, gravelly voice was almost swallowed up by the sound of Baby’s wheels eating up the driveway. His ears unconsciously strained to hear Cas’s words.

“It wasn’t the hunt, Dean.” He placed an arm around Dean as he sagged against Castiel. “You’re ill.”

Sam could easily see that for himself. His brother was beginning to flush from what was most likely a fever. And still, Dean slurred out a protest. “M’not sick. M’ just tired.” _Yeah, and we’re poster boys for perfect mental health,_ Sam couldn’t help but think. 

“I could just–”

“No way, Cas. You’re still runnin’ low.” Sam sighed. His stupid, self-sacrificing brother. He may have had a point, though, with Cas having used up most of his grace for the hunt. 

oOo

“Dean…” He was shivering, head buried on his arms crossed on the kitchen table, shivering. There was a half finished bowl of soup neglected in front of him. He’d forcefully made Castiel take his trenchcoat back, so he’d shrugged it back on, secretly thrilled that it smelled of Dean.

“Nope.” _Humans._ If Castiel were any more human himself, he’d have given into the human urge to throw his head back and groan at the other man’s almost childish petulance. 

oOo

He was passing by the common area later, having shed his coat and loosened his tie. It may have smelled like Dean, but it was the very same person who’d always nagged at him about making himself at home… plus, it seemed far more comfortable to have the trenchcoat out of the way for once as he tried to deal with Dean. He wasn’t exactly looking for him… but Castiel may have intentionally walked into the common room because he could sense the brothers’ presence there. And sure enough, they were both seated in adjacent armchairs, Sam looking very unimpressed even as he read through a book titled _Magic Chronicles_ . Dean also had a book held limply in his hands, _Cthulu & you, _ but his head was hung back, a thermometer in his mouth. If Castiel couldn’t tell Dean was sick from the fact that he was willingly holding a book that could potentially count as research, then he’d have to have been senseless to not notice the germs practically radiating from Dean. Unbidden, Castiel’s pointer finger came up to Dean’s forehead, remembering himself only an inch away before his fingertip could come in contact.

“Dean, I can _literally see_ the influenza virus festering in your cells.” He began to beseech. “Just let me–”

“Nope.” 

_“_ **_Stubborn, infuriating mule_ ** _.”_ Castiel muttered in Enochian as he withdrew his hand. He vaguely heard Sam give out a small snort, but he was already angrily walking away.

Only, later, the sound of retching drew Castiel to the bunker’s bathroom, and when he found Dean hunched over a toilet, resting his head on crossed arms and mirroring the same pose from back in the kitchen except now over a toilet, Castiel almost held back, annoyed and exasperated. But then Dean retched painfully, and Castiel was inevitably tugged forward as if by an invisible line, unrelenting until he found himself kneeling behind Dean, rubbing a soothing hand over Dean’s back. “Dean, please.” It hurt to see him like this, when Castiel knew for a fact he could do something about it, if only Dean would _let_ him, for heaven’s sake. It really shouldn’t have come as a surprise when Dean surfaced enough to protest rather vehemently for having only seconds prior puked majority of the contents of his stomach out.

“Dammit, Cas… _ugh_ …” His head bobbed back down as he let out a rather toxic smelling burp, but he resolutely came back up to, “No!” This time, Castiel let out a long-suffering sigh.

oOo

For some profound reason that escaped Castiel, he yet again found himself outside Dean’s bedroom. Laying on the left side of a bed in a worn shirt that Castiel knew was Dean’s favorite by the 3.14 on the top left corner and subsequently well worn, he might as well have been holding up a poster announcing, “ _I’m sick and miserable!_ ” with how he was acting.

Inviting himself inside, Castiel sat cross-legged on the right side of Dean’s bed, facing him. When the mattress dipped and was jostled under Castiel as he climbed onto it, he thought Dean would wake up. But hours seemed to go by, Castiel tracing the contours of Dean’s face with his eyes and losing track of time as he took in the tired slump of Dean’s features even when in a fitful sleep, the flush of his fever leaving his cheeks a bright pink, sweat beading at Dean’s forehead. So entranced with making patterns of the constellations of the freckles on Dean’s face, he didn’t notice when Dean opened his left eye to peek at Castiel. “I thought you were over the sleep creepin’ thing. You been there all night?”

Castiel gave Dean a flat stare. “Yes. Only because you’re being insufferably stubborn… I didn’t pull you out of hell to watch you suffer needlessly.” Dean became more so red-faced, Castiel doubted that increase was due to the fever, and looked down and away, absently scratching at his unkempt stubble.

“I… ain’t worth the grace, Cas.” Dean said finally, and something in Castiel snapped as he leaned forward, unconsciously brushing Dean’s sweaty hair away from his forehead, thumb itching to just press flat against Dean’s forehead and heal him like every fiber in Castiel wished for.

“You don’t get to decide that.” Dean looked up, but then his posture turned defensive as he grabbed at Castiel’s hand.

“Actually, I do.” He lashed out. “You ain’t mojo-ing me and that’s that. Now you gonna let me sleep or what?” He snapped. They stared, Castiel feeling like they were rather at a stand off. He hated it, but he hated pushing Dean’s consent further, so he let his hand fall limp in Dean’s grasp.

“...Fine.” He eventually said reluctantly. Dean nodded, staring far too shrewdly at Castiel, but he didn’t look very victorious either.

“Good.”

And with that, Castiel left.

oOo

Sam was fairly invested in his book. The title was a little cheesy, he would admit, and admittedly _Glampires: look great without a reflection_ was dry in comparison to _Magical Chronicles,_ but the book’s attempt at humor still entertained Sam. So he was a little disgruntled but not at all surprised when Cas huddled over with a cup of coffee, entire countenance writing defeat all over the angel.

“...Tried talking to Dean?” Sam offered with a kind but knowing smile. He had a feeling he knew exactly how the encounter carried out without needing to be there.

“He’s being… _difficult._ ”

“Obviously,” Sam said, almost smirking. It wouldn’t be Dean if he wasn’t difficult, and _then_ Sam would have a reason to be really worried.

“I would never use my grace without his consent,” Cas needlessly explained. “But… he won’t let me help. At all.”

Sam sighed, closing his book to give Cas his full attention. For reasons he knew but wasn’t gonna address aloud, Cas was being far more bothered about this whole thing, and Sam would’ve had to have been soulless to not throw the poor guy a bone. “Look, Cas. Atlas has _nothing_ on my brother. Dean feels responsible for me; for you…” _Probably shouldn’t go there, ah, fuck, backtrack, backtrack._ “Hell, probably even for the baristas at the fancy coffee shop he thinks we don’t know he goes to.” He swiftly changed.

“Yes, I am aware of his passion for both duty and pumpkin spice.” Cas stated dryly. Sam let slip his smirk a little at that.

“Well. I think he feels responsible for the curse that messed up your grace.”

Cas looked at Sam with furrowed eyebrows, confused. “But that wasn’t–”

“I know, Cas. I do.” Sam hastened to elaborate. “But this is _Dean_ we’re talking about. Specifically, him dealing with a risk to the one person aside from me that he gets totally bent outta shape about.”

Cas continued to stare with wide-eyes, _sheesh, giving me a run for my own puppy eyes,_ clearly not getting it. “I mean you, Cas.” Sam said bluntly, childishly enjoying watching Cas flush and lean back.

“Oh… I… I see.”

“Uhuh,” sure he did. “Point is, in his infuriatingly backwards way, Dean’s probably being a dick because he cares. He’d rather suffer a bit if it means you’ll be better off.” He explained. 

Cas’s eyes slid to the side as he mused over Sam’s words. “That seems unhealthy.”

“Tell me about it,” Sam huffed out a dry, humorless laugh. _Poster boys for perfect mental health…_ The smile he offered Cas next was a little more genuine, if sympathetic. “I’ve had almost four decades of experience with his particular brand of ‘Ass-fection.’ He’s also a _terrible_ patient…” he said apologetically. “So if you still want to help, you’re either just gonna have to ignore his B.S., or give him a taste of his own medicine.” He looked pointedly at Cas. “Got it?”

Slowly, a small smile crept onto Cas’s lips. “Yes, I think so.”

Sam stood, absently noticing the coffee Cas had brought but hadn’t had a single sip from was no longer steaming.

“Thank you, Sam.”

“Anytime, buddy.” He tapped the angel’s shoulder as he passed by him. “Good luck.” _I wish you could say you weren’t gonna need it._

oOo

When Cas strode back into his room, there was a sort of purposeful determination in his stance, and the sleeves he’d long since pushed up only emphasized the unwavering way he was walking towards Dean now. Confused, Dean warily eyed Cas as he loosened his tie and began to unbutton his shirt, and holy hell what was he doing? His thoughts were only further derailed when Cas’s eyes began to glow blue with grace. The powerful sight wasn’t enough to get Dean to open both his eyes, though, not when he felt like _shit._ “The hell are you doing, Cas? I told you I–” Cas pulled off his shirt, revealing well defined abs and, oh, yeah, Cas had a friggin’ _tattoo,_ but, “Uh… Cas,” Majestic black wings flapped into existence, and yeah, both his eyes were definitely wide open now. ‘ _Holy freakin; shit these fevered dreams are gettin’ way too realistic’_ Oh, lord, Cas was only getting closer, what the _hell_ was he doing? “Uh… hey… Cas” He was shaking, and he was totally blaming it on the flu, fever, whatever, but he was still staring, unbilinking at his friend as Cas draped his shirt and tie over his left arm, leaving his wings free to flare out in a display of majestic power. “Wh-whatcha doin’ there, buddy?” 

“I can hear your teeth chattering from down the hall.” See? Definitely just the fever. Flu. Who the hell cared at this point? “It is _infuriating._ ” What Dean (kinda) cared about was how Cas’s voice could possible go lower, until he was practically growling, and hang on a second now–

“Well, shit, feathers. Ain’t exactly like I can help it.” He said indignantly. “Now, what the fu–”

“I _can_ help it.” Cas cut him off, eyes dangerous through the blue light. “Even without my grace.” His chest was puffed out and his head held up high, and oh, Dean shifted uncomfortably as Cas’s voice was definitely snarling now. “…And you’re going to let me.”

Dean was pretty sure he was malfunctioning. The flu – fever, _who the fuck cared_ – was definitely getting to his head because his brain was glitching, and Dean was at a complete loss for words, only able to cowardly pull the blankets up to his chin. 

oOo

“ ** _SAAAMMY_** _ANGEL’S LOST HIS FREAKIN’ FEATHERY MARBLES GET THE HOLY OIL AND MAYBE–”_

Without taking his eyes away from his laptop, Sam reached over to the side and grabbed his headphones. “Nope.”

oOo

“Dean, just shut up and stay still.” They were in bed, Cas over him, and then out of the blue he found himself bodily manhandled until he was on his side, facing Cas, and – feathers flew around as they began to drape over Dean. 

“Jeez, Cas, I’m not a baby bird,” he said, uncomfortable and marginally annoyed as Cas continued to make himself at home, but then he did, and, oh, that… actually felt good. Without being aware of it, Dean went slack as Cas’s wing settled comfortably around Dean, wrapping him up in a warm cocoon. “...Oh, damn that’s warm…” His eyes closed, a peaceful feeling in his chest curling the corners of his lips up without him noticing. He felt Cas gently brush away his hair from his forehead. 

“...Better?” Cas asked. Gone was the deep, gravelly commands, replaced by a softness that only threatened to lull Dean further into sleep.

Still, he couldn’t help but automatically jibe back. “Yeah, you’re a big cuddly badass, I get it.”

“Dean.” Nope, it wasn’t gone, because Cas didn’t sound impressed at all, and Dean relented.

“Yeah. Okay,” he sighed. “Better.”

He had no idea when, but at some point, he’d fallen asleep. He remained blissfully under, unbothered by nightmares or coughs wrenched from deep within his chest that woke Dean up with a start. Undisturbed, when Dean did wake up, it was pleasantly slow, eyes blearily blinking as Dean registered in his surroundings, his senses so much clearer… and there was someone right behind him, spooning. As the memories trickled in, Dean realized it was _Cas,_ with his nose tucked between Dean’s shoulder blades, and – oh, yeah – wings securely around Dean. With the abrupt realization practically slamming into him, Dean gasped.

“C-Cas?” He felt his cheeks heating up, but something told him it wasn’t because of whatever sickness ailed him the night before. 

“Don’t worry.” Cas sounded far more calmer in comparison. He placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder before receding, drawing his wings back “Your fever has broken.” Cas got up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. His voice cracked with uncertainty as he went on. “I…I apologize for the intrusion.” When Dean, unsettled, peeked over his shoulder, he saw Cas looking down, his shoulders slumped as his wings faded from view. Dean blinked, wide-eyed, trying to process the sight of Cas’s wings completely disappearing, except for a few stray feathers pulled free and was now slowly drifting down. With his wings gone, Cas began to put his shirt back on. 

Dean rubbed the back of his neck. _‘…shit.’_ Pushing himself up to his knees, Dean hunched over Cas’s back. “Cas, wait,” he hooked his chin over Cas’s shoulder and placed his hand on Cas’s other shoulder, his right hand holding Dean up on the bed. “I, uh…” he began hesitantly, before forcing himself to push on. Even as he kept his eyes closed, way too flustered to look at Cas for this, he was still smiling. “Y’know, actually I think I’m still cold.” One last feather lingered in the air as Cas’s muscles relaxed under Dean. He brought his hand up to grab onto Dean’s wrist over his shoulder, not pulling, but just holding. Cas smiled back as he peered at Dean.

“…You do look a little flushed.” Even as his face heated up furiously, Dean grinned wider anyway.

“…Shuddup.”

They ended up going back to bed, and didn’t leave for another few hours. They might’ve lost Cas’s shirt under Dean’s bed too, but neither of them particularly cared with how enamored Dean unabashedly let himself be with Cas’s wings.

**Author's Note:**

> I apologize for any and all mistakes (and the delay I legit just got on spring break today... yesterday?) its 2:53 AM and... so much for trying to sleep earlier (actually, there's still hope. I slept at 6 am yesterday so...)


End file.
